


Casualties of War

by visser



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Sad Ending, War, generally sad and angsty, i have absolutely no idea how tags work, kinda short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:31:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visser/pseuds/visser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> It was so hard to ignore the way the blood stained the soft, icy snowflakes, seeping between the perfectly formed crystals in the most disturbing way. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casualties of War

_"What is that?" Chris pointed to the item concealed by Alex's clenched fist as the fellow soldier sat down on the bed next to him._

_"It's a pigeon lapel pin." Alex mumbled, concentrating on fixing the pin onto Chris' jacket as symmetrically as possible. "I want you to have it."_

_"A pigeon?" Chris questioned, slightly confused by his choice, but couldn't helping smiling at the gift. "Couldn't have picked a more exciting animal, Smith?"_

_"It's not about the animal, it's about what they symbolise. Pigeon's symbolise security and home." Alex looked back at the brunette after he was satisfied with the pin's placement, his eyes darting to the tent's entrance, making sure they were covered from the eyes of their friends before taking Chris' hands in his own. "It symbolises returning to love."_

_"It's going to take a hell of a lot more than a pigeon pin to bring us home." Chris half chuckled, as he watched Smith's thumbs stroke over his knuckles, appreciating the loving gesture. "But I'll settle for anything if it means there's a chance we can get out of this alive. Together."_

 

Alex Smith stumbled across the wasteland in front of him, the shrill cries of pain from the few soldiers that hadn't passed to the other side were maddening and with a heavy heart and a light head he trudged past the wounded who made grabs for his cold-numbed legs, begging for help or even just mercy. It was so hard to ignore the way the blood stained the soft, icy snowflakes, seeping between the perfectly formed crystals in the most disturbing way.

The brutal siege had lasted 11 days but the bloodiest hours had only just passed, now all that remained were the fallen members of the defeated half of the 8th Brigade strewn across the field, some left for dead - some already there. Although, heartless as it seemed, there was only one body he was desperate to find.

He had discarded his musket long ago yet his body still felt weighed down by some invisible force and his worn boots felt much too heavy for his battered and blistered feet as they crunched against the frosty snow that blanketed pathetic strands of dead grass and dried mud. Thick tunic and woollen great coat did woefully little to repel the cold and he wanted desperately to remove his boots and set his feet down in front of a fireplace but then again, he dreaded having to take them off for fear of actually seeing the inevitable frostbite in his painful toes.

He watched the water vapour in his exhalations precipitate as the small clouds of white fog that were the only thing that assured him he was even alive to walk the desolate grounds in front of him. As they rose into the grey, cloudless sky, he noticed the way the heavens above steadily darkened as nightfall approached and clusters of what were so far dim stars came into view and as the cold got more bitter than he even thought possible, instead of just watching it dissipate into the air, he brought his hands up to his face, using the only source of warmth he had left. His breath weaved through the material of his cotton gloves, moistening his palms behind the cloth slightly as the hot air condensed on his skin.

His heart rate climbed as he reached the end of the plain, hammering ruthlessly in his head but he almost welcomed it compared to the eerie silence that had settled after he had passed the initial bulk of fallen soldiers, the ones who had been on the front line, but hadn't been quite so miraculously fortunate as himself; he had not been as cursed to be in the eye of the battle, instead he had backed off. Some would call him a deserter, but in his own eyes he still fought and lost like the rest, the knowledge that he had taken lives poised to eclipse his conscious soon enough.

Then again, the 'fortune' of keeping his own life that had befallen him was that of opinion because in his gut instinct he knew Chris' fortune all to well and his suspicions were so cruelly proved correct when he saw a familiar lapel glinting in the setting sun.

The sight of the man he cared about the most in such a state, manufactured his guilt and regret under a new light. He, among countless other things, wished he could've gotten there a little sooner. Maybe not even to save him, maybe just so he could've known the last words to leave his now purple-tinted lips. Maybe they would have been about friendship, or family, or regrets, or maybe even the subject of his love and desire.

Maybe they would have been about him.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ao3 fic, kind of a warm up or a taster of my writing style, so please excuse the strange use of tags - hopefully you got the gist.
> 
> this is loosely based on the battle of dybbøl during the second schleswig war but it's not totally factual so don't read too much into that.
> 
> hope you enjoyed :)


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